


Kill the Engine, Stop My Heart

by madame_le_maire



Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Communication Failure, First Time, Frottage, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Violence, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 15:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15754116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_le_maire/pseuds/madame_le_maire
Summary: Ice might not be volatile like Maverick, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous.Slider isn't gunning to put a name on the thing him and Ice have. He just knows Ice is his, somehow (or maybe it's the other way round).But then, there's Top Gun and Maverick, and suddenly, he's not so sure anymore.





	Kill the Engine, Stop My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my friends who agreed to watch this movie with me. I acknowledge and appreciate your sacrifice. Hope you enjoy this!

Kerner comes after Kazansky in the roll call and that may not make for a good meeting story, but it really was as simple as that. The important part is that it didn’t have to lead anywhere – but it did, because they’re both ambitious and abrasive in a way not everybody gets. And, of course, they’re fucking good at what they do.

Slider might’ve wanted to become a pilot once, until he learned it takes two people to make it happen up there – and sitting in the back of the cockpit isn’t so bad when you know the flight wouldn’t be half as good without you. Slider’s proud to set up Ice’s shots for him and even Ice, with his sharp smirk, flipping his pen through his fingers, needs somebody to whisper his acerbic comments to.

Slider loves flying with Ice. And more than anything, Slider loves them winning together. 

***

Their job is one constant adrenaline overdose. Dog fights always make Slider ache for something to take the edge off. Nothing worse than brimming with a fire that’s got nowhere to go.

They haven’t been assigned together for long and Slider’s taking care of himself in the bathroom, facing the wall. He thought he’s being quiet enough – up until he feels Ice stepping behind him all of the sudden, resting one hand on the tiles next to him. Slider stills, sucks in a breath, left hand seizing into a fist on reflex. But then Ice just starts jerking himself off, too. Slider can feel his knuckles brushing against his ass, the occasional coldness of Ice’s ring, and he bites his lip to keep himself from moaning and finishes himself off. Afterwards, he turns around and slaps Ice’s ass and Ice grins in that sharp way of his and cuffs Slider’s ear. Then Slider goes into another stall to wash Ice’s come off himself.

***

It’s got nothing to do with anything, but Ice fucks men. Whenever there’s an opportunity, anyway. Slider doesn’t get it and maybe not all his thoughts about it are all that friendly, but in the end, it doesn’t really matter. Ice will always come back to him and they’ll get into a cockpit and trust each other with their lives. Slider can deal with it.  

Once, he finds Ice in the bathroom late, back from leave, pressing a stolen mess spoon against a hickey far too high on his neck.

“Told him not to, fucking asshole,” Ice mutters at Slider’s raised eyebrow. Slider considers and then grins and swoops down as if to bite him in the same place and Ice, all fast reflexes, elbows him right in the face. The black eye gets him a dressing down from their commanding officer the next morning and Slider fights a grin all the way through. He promises Ice he’ll get him black and blue too sometime, with a wink. Ice just snorts and Slider lets him forget about it for a while.

They spend the whole night drinking after they get the invitation to Top Gun. Ice can be a handsy drunk, Slider’s learned – around him, anyway – and so he sits a little closer. Lets Ice put his head on his shoulder and throws his arm around him in turn. None of the other guys even look at them weird anymore.

Slider doesn’t make a move until they’re on their way back to their quarters. But even drunk, Ice has the better reflexes, dodging his swing, and making a run for it. Pity Slider is still faster.

He gets Ice just outside the door, pins him to the wall. Ice laughs, struggling against him, so Slider lets go of his wrists and pins him with his body instead. He’s hard and so is Ice and Ice stills. And Slider untucks Ice’s shirt, pushes his hand into his pants. Grabs Ice’s hip and slowly, carefully presses his fingers into the flesh there. Listens to Ice’s breath go shallow, feels his body go taut, shaking in tension. Doesn’t stop until Ice lets out a pained moan, like it’s forced out of him, and another one. When Slider leans away, he can’t stop looking at Ice’s red-bitten lips.

They collapse in the bottom bunk in a heap of loose limbs and then there’s no remembering who reached out first, who turned over and came closer, until Ice’s thigh is between his legs. Slider rolls on top of him and doesn’t think much about regret. By then they’ll be sober, and it’ll be a different day and it won’t matter in the grand scheme of things. It never does. Slider grinds downward, lets himself get lost in the off-kilter rhythm of it. He can’t help but swear under his breath and Ice grins, catching Slider’s bottom lip with his teeth, biting down too hard. Slider licks across Ice’s lips in return and Ice laughs, fists a hand in the back of Slider’s shirt and comes.

***

Top Gun is a whole different game. Slider never doubted that they’re the best, but proving it is the whole point. Would’ve been easier without a pain in the ass like Maverick in their way. He wishes Ice wouldn’t care so much, but that asshole would get anybody’s gall.

That first evening might have been funny, but a couple of weeks into the program, when they’re watching Maverick make a fool of himself in the O club once again, Slider looks over to Ice and sees him scowl.

“If you can’t win within the rules, you’re not fucking trying hard enough,” Ice says, so quietly only Slider can hear him. And Slider finds he’s feeling bold, runs a hand up Ice’s inseam under the table. The way Ice looks at him after tells him the gamble paid off. Some rules _are_ made for breaking, after all. Even Ice gets that.

The next day, he can tell Ice is dawdling in the locker room and they don’t need to exchange more than one glance to end up right up against the lockers. They’re both sweaty and grimy and Slider feels high on it, drops to his knees, unzips Ice’s suit just enough for access and swallows him down, making Ice swear, then moan.

It’s his first time sucking dick and Slider didn’t think about it for more than a split second. Ice might not be volatile like Maverick, but that doesn’t mean he isn't dangerous.

***

Slider should’ve seen it coming. It’s his fucking job to see things coming. And yet somehow, Ice getting hooked on Maverick wasn’t on his radar. 

“Let it go, you’re better than him anyway,” Slider whispers to him in class and there’s something about the way Ice startles, like he got lost somewhere for a moment, that makes Slider perk up and take notice.

It took him far too long to realize how sharp the tension between Ice and Maverick is. How loaded. Slider used to think he doesn’t understand the way Ice looks at men, but it’s also not like none of this has left a trace. There are many things he understands better now. Like how sometimes in the wanting to punch a guy, it’s the wanting that’s important.

Oh, they’re still partners alright. But there’s a lot of talk about Maverick these days and not a lot of touching. A slap on the shoulder here and there, it all leaves him aching. Fucked if he knows for what exactly, but still, it seems more palatable missing Ice’s hand on his dick than the way Ice breathes when he sleeps. Or the fact that only Slider knows how Ice still hates getting up early, years of the Navy and military academies be damned. How soft Ice can look in the few moments he allows himself before pulling himself together into invincibility.

***

The brass may think Goose’s death was nobody’s fault, but Slider doesn’t agree. They could’ve fucking flown better, been less rattled. Sometimes there’s jet washes and air currents and goddamn tornados, but far too often, it’s simply somebody’s fucking failure. And they’re supposed to be good at this. Goddammit.

Slider isn’t surprised to find Ice in his room later that day, slumped on the bed with his head in his hands. He hesitates for a moment, then sits down next to him anyway – and Ice yanks him close, shoves his face into the crook of Slider’s neck. Slider feels arousal spike almost instantly, forces it down, and anger bubbles up, instead. He wanted something, yes. Not _this,_ whatever it is. So he grits his teeth while Ice hugs him tight, pressure of his fingers so sharp it’ll leave him with bruises, and if Ice’s breaths sound a little broken, Slider ignores it.

Fuck the wanting; right now, all he wants is to shake Ice off and ask who the fuck this is for. In the end, he opts to forget about the latter. Just untangles himself, none too gently, and leaves.

Slider’s never cared much about what else Ice does, but this is different. Like playing on home turf and losing the advantage. Like being shot down over Washington fucking DC.

***

They win Top Gun, after all. Ice hugs him when the results get announced, previous tensions be damned and that hits Slider somewhere deep inside. And he realizes that he can’t stand the idea of letting Ice slip away from him. He won’t.

The night before graduation, he goes to Ice’s room and climbs into his bed and Ice doesn’t kick him out. In fact, he pulls him closer. Slider didn’t have a plan per se, but there are a lot of vague thoughts about proving himself while they undress each other. Maybe so he doesn’t have to think about how the heat of Ice’s skin is driving him crazy. But then Ice maneuvers him around, on his hands and knees and Slider sucks in a breath. This isn’t how he imagined this would go. He goes along, anyway. Barely dares to breathe when Ice starts fucking him with his fingers. The thought that he’s letting somebody do this to him won’t let him go – and even more so that he can’t make himself hate it. He almost moans out loud when he feels Ice’s dick nudge at him. It gets even harder to keep it together when Ice thrusts into him, agonizingly slowly and it’s uncomfortable and weird and all he can think is, _yes_.

Ice fucks meticulously and a little too hard. Slider stares down at the mattress, thinking that this is it, he can never come back from this. Feels like he’s just sold himself to Ice, body and soul, but then, who is he kidding, hasn’t he already?

***

The next day, Slider feels sore and, somehow, completely at ease. For a while, anyway. He’s even glad Maverick got his shit together enough to show up, because being angry at Maverick right now would be like kicking somebody who isn’t just down, but already half-buried.

Besides, Top Gun is over. Maybe they’ll finally figure it all out proper when they’re far away from this shit again. 

It doesn’t even matter that Maverick has to save their asses later, up there. But then, the way Ice looks at Maverick does matter. Even after Ice clasps Slider’s hand like his life depends on it, it matters. No points for second place, after all.

***

Regulations are lax afterwards and everybody takes advantage by getting piss-drunk. It’s almost enough to make Slider forget. He joins the discussions about future postings and assignments, only notices that Ice has been quiet for a while when he clears his throat, glances up at him and says, “Thinking of staying at Miramar.”

Slider’s heart drops about a thousand feet.

“Okay,” he forces out, downs his glass and stands up. He tells himself he only needs a moment to clear his head, but he never comes back, goes to talk to Wolfman instead and doesn’t watch Ice, pointedly. Sees him gravitate towards Maverick out of the corner of his eye anyway. Maverick, who takes what he wants. Maverick, who’s staying behind, too. And Slider thinks, of course. He’s never stopped to think that maybe it’s already happened. And now that his mind went there, he can’t stop wondering if Ice had let Maverick fuck him.

He downs another drink.

Ice goes for what he wants too, in his own way. Slider just wonders he hadn’t considered it could ever be at his expense.

He still follows Ice when he leaves early, maybe to check if there’s somebody he’s leaving for. But they end up alone in the hallway and Slider catches Ice by the shoulder without any thought to the why. Ice turns, wan light catching in his hair and for a split second, Slider thinks of yanking Ice even closer and licking the desperation into his mouth, asking him to follow, asking him to fly with him again. But then Ice snaps, “The fuck's wrong with you today, Kerner?”

And Slider balls up his fist instead. Gets Ice square in the eye. Ice flinches back, blinks a couple of times, stares at him like he doesn’t get it.

“Want me to fucking spell it out for you?” Slider forces out and Ice throws him a long, scrutinizing look.

“You’re so full of shit,” Ice says then, voice even, and hits back. His ring catches on Slider’s cheekbone, slicing it open like a blade.

Slider swears at the sharp pain, presses his hand to his cheek. Looks up, vision hazy, sees Ice standing there still, silent. And decides he’s had enough and walks away. Behind him, he doesn’t hear Ice make a single step.

***

Slider never sleeps well after dogfights anyway and then there’s the pulsating pain of his cheek, too. He spends some time packing haphazardly, then leaves the chaos spread all over his room and lies down to toss and turn instead. Thinks about sharp winds and cold waters and how he’ll have them on his own too, somehow.

It’s around one when the door opens with a creak.

“For fuck’s sake, Ron,” Ice says quietly. He’s all blue in the moonlight. Deceptively fragile.

Slider sits up in his bed. Ice closes the door. He didn’t come for an apology, Slider knows. Neither of them is going to apologize for that.

“Just fucking say it.” Ice doesn’t sound angry. Maybe tired. Slider is kind of tired too, though if Ice is expecting confessions, he’s in for a disappointment.

“I’m not done yet,” Slider says simply. With what? Flying. You. Who the fuck knows. 

The beds dips when Ice sits at his side.

“Fuck’s sake,” Ice says again, even quieter, kind of defeated, and leans forward.

Slider flinches, turns his head away, but Ice chases him there, turns him back until he catches his mouth with his own. And Slider forgets everything that isn’t the way Ice kisses.

Ice’s lips are so much warmer than they have any business being.

He puts his hands on Ice’s waist, feels the warmth radiating through his undershirt. Ice’s skin is damp underneath; he pushes his nails into it, hears Ice sigh. It makes him shaky all of the sudden and then it’s either stopping or going full-force. So he pulls Ice on top of himself, puts his hand on Ice’s chest, tugs him down by his dog tags. Ice comes down the rest of the way, stops short of his mouth – and Slider meets him, because fuck it. Because Ice came into his room, maybe for the last time, and looked fragile and beautiful and kissed him first. 

If it’s a goodbye, it’s not a particularly good one, because he’s afraid he’ll never be able to quit this now. It’s too slow and soft, Ice’s tongue too gentle in his mouth, Ice’s weight is too familiar on top of him and he doesn’t know how he’ll ever breathe again with it gone.

Ice breaks away, thumbs along the edge of the cut, around the bandage, and Slider hisses, doesn’t pretend it doesn’t hurt.

“Meant staying at Miramar with you, dumbass,” Ice says, almost gently.

Slider stares up at him. Ice rolls his eyes.

“Your name’s on the trophy too, isn’t it?”

Slider doesn’t quite know what to say to that. Wraps his arms around Ice instead. And Ice rests his head on Slider’s chest and stays. Slider spends a long time awake after, caught in a kind of quiet that makes him want to watch the shadows for a while. He’d say it feels like winning, but truth is, it’s just Ice breathing evenly into the crook of his neck as he’s slowly falling asleep on top of him.

It’s better than that.

 


End file.
